The bog in my arm pits and my oily complexion are subtle reminders.

I step over three-day-old dog ****, pick up my guitar, play three chords then put it down.

Sit down at my computer.  Watch **** for hours.

Futile.

New idea. Watch television.

Click the channel button a few hundred times and then some.

Finally, a scenario worth watching. A fragile, old man with shaky hands offering his wallet, pressed against a brick wall with a gun to his face, begging and pleading for his life. Without hesitation the petty thief shoots the poor ******* right between the eyes, killing him instantly and escaping with the wallet.

I start to imagine what it would be like to have that pistol in my face, threatened for my life. I couldn't be so **** lucky. However earlier today I did find a quarter with heads facing up...

I reach for my wallet and head out the door.